


Should I stay or should I go?

by Romanumeternal



Series: Random stories from the People's Republic of Rome [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/M, Non-Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:44:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanumeternal/pseuds/Romanumeternal
Summary: Set roughly ninety years before the present, a slave captured in war faces a choice he didn't think would ever be hard...Slight disclaimer: I do not condone what the narrator says, and their actions, words and thoughts do not at all reflect my own. Freisreich is against Rome, to be sure, but its still a very, very unpleasant place.





	Should I stay or should I go?

looked down into the suitcase. Five tunics, five trousers, all in off-grey. One raincoat. Two thick jackets; one of them spotted with oil stains. Five books (Principle of Light Vehicle Repair; Bodywork Repair and Maintenance; An Introduction to Fabrication and Welding; Basic Electrical Workmanship and the massive Engineering Principles) old, creased with years of use. Underwear. A bag of tools - hex keys, screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches, ratchets and the like.

 

For nine years, it wasn't much. But then again, until a month ago I had not, technically, owned anything, although of course I'd accumulated possessions over the last sixteen years; with the tools being a gift from my ex-dominus on the day of my emancipation. It was a fine gift, certainly, and an indication of what I was pretty sure he wanted. And, truth be told, what part of me still wanted. To remain, here, in the People's Republic of Rome. 

 

I tried to drive that unwelcome thought out of my head. He and his family were Romans. On on my bed was a new passport, with the crest of the Holy Kingdom of Freisreich emblazoned on it, guaranteeing me safe passage out and back into my Vaterland. For years and years, it had been all I'd dreamt off. When I was first held in that stinking slave camp, never to see my family again, I dreamed of running, over the front lines, and back to my people. When I scrabbled in the frozen soil for potatoes under the clubs and whips of brutish overseers, I dreamt of one day returning. When I was purchased by an ex-legionary, I hoped to one day kill him and his kin, and then come back to the land of my forefathers. For years, the tug had been so strong it was almost physical. Now, my dream was within my reach. I could stroll out any time, and in a months time be breathing the pure and blessed air of our glorious Friesreich. 

 

Except now...I sighed. The tug was still there, there was no doubt about that. Freisreich was my home, and always would be. And the Allfather knew that it needed me, needed every pure-blooded man, woman and child to come back, rebuild the nation after years of bloody struggle against Rome. And despite all the time that had passed, I knew I could never be a Roman, could never accept the impiety, the callous disregard for life, the tolerance of flagrant sexual deviance, the mingling of the higher races with inferior blood and the acceptance of the abomination of slavery.

 

But the tug was weaker now, there was no doubt about that. The Romans claim that their slaves are part of their family. Personally, I think that's absolute rubbish. But there was no doubt that over the past few years, I'd become comfortable. I'd carved out a nice little life for myself, here in this quiet and sleepy town on the outskirts of Clunia. Despite the fact that most of my neighbors were free Romans, I got on well enough with them. And I'd discovered within myself a talent for mechanical work, which had transformed what was originally a shed where a one-armed ex legionary tried to patch up antique tractors into a large, modern vehicle repair shop and dealership. I may not have had any choice, but nevertheless I'd worked hard, and was somewhat proud, of what I'd helped do. Next to that - well, who could sa what awaited me in the Vaterland? If half the Roman propaganda bore any resemblance to reality, then I'd be going home to a cold, poor land, and none too welcoming of those of us returning, either.

 

I shook my head, decisively. No. That was coward's talk. Freisreich needed me, and the Romans, no matter how comfortable I now was, had made me a slave. I had to go back.

 

There was a knock on the door. I turned around, unbolted it (having that privacy was a somewhat novel experience), to reveal Telia, with red, puffy eyes; her somewhat plump face framed by unusually disordered black hair.

 

"Domina?" I said, before I remembered. "I mean, Miss-"

 

"You're going, aren't you?" she said, suddenly.

 

I glanced at her, and then at the suitcase, somewhat taken aback.

 

"Well...yes" I said, somewhat confused.

 

She glanced down at the floor, kicking against the tiles.

 

"You don't have to" she said, after a pause. "You could stay here."

 

I looked at her, wondering if this was some trick of her father's. I had no doubt the man wanted me to stay on. I tried to force some levity into my voice.

 

"I could, but I never got used to your Roman weather-" I began, but she interrupted me, with a snap of her fingers. Free I might now be, but the habits of obedience - even to the youngest daughter of my dominus - went deep. I shut up, instantly.

 

"Don't ... joke" she said. She paused, and then, without asking permission, sat down on the bed, looking morosely at the suitcase. "I mean, I thought you'd go travelling, but I thought you'd be coming back here."

 

"Oh" I said, wondering where she'd got that impression from. True, I had made no song and dance about moving, but nor had I kept it a secret.

 

"But you're going. Back to Freisreich. You got anybody there?"

 

I smiled, bitterly. "No. When I...well, when I came here...I lost contact with them." Truth be told, I was more or less certain that most of my family were dead - the Roman assault on Vraks had left few alive, sending columns of refugees fleeing into the forests where they were hunted down by the advancing Legions. In that bitterly cold winter, starving and freezing in a burnt out hut , my mother had come down with a fever, and sometimes I wondered, late at night, when the mind occupies itself on what it will, whether she had, in fact, tried to be found, knowing she was ill and wanting to at least save my life. Besides, even if my sister or uncles or cousins had lived, the chances of me finding them was eligible.

 

The only consolation I had was that, in all probability, the legionaries who had ripped my away from my dying mother had died in the Battle of Kronstad; the Seventh Legion being one of those slaughtered to the last man in that cruel and bitter battle. 

 

"So why are you going back?" she said. "My father has always been good to you, hasn't he?" 

 

For a moment, I didn't answer. I could have said that, certainly at the start, any compassion was simply to get the most use out of me. Or that no matter how well a captive is treated, a captive is still a captive. Or that a man who lives in the total power of another is shamed before the Allfather. Or that he might have been compassionate, but that didn't change the fact he was a Roman.

 

But that was a conversation I did not want to have. So I just nodded.

 

"And you've been in Rome longer than you lived in Freisreich" she persisted. "You were - what? - ten when you came here. And now you're thirty five. You have friends here, don't you? Your whole life is here. Hades, I was two when my father..." she tried for a euphemism, failed, and persisted "brought you. I've known you my whole life. If you go back, you'll be starting all over."  
"But Freisreich is my home".

 

She leaned forward, and, unexpectedly, grabbed my hand.

 

"No. This is your home, now." She looked down, saw what she was doing, and aware, perhaps, that daughters shouldn't grab the hands of their father's slaves, blushed slightly and removed it. "That's where I am, and my father, and..." she trailed off, miserably. To my surprise, I saw tears welling in those beautiful green eyes of hers. "Oh" she said, softly.

 

I nodded, thinking she'd come to the same conclusions I had.

 

"Yes" I said, softly.

 

"You must hate us." She sniffed, and now tears were running down her cheeks. Her bottom lip was wobbling, and she angrily dashed at her eyes with a tissue. She looked up at me, half pleadingly, half accusatory. "I-"

 

"I don't hate you." I said, rapidly. I paused, wondering if that was true. She was a Roman, after all, a people who had invaded my nation, slaughtered my people, killed and scattered my family, and finally enslaved me. But, then again, she was also the precocious third daughter of my dominus, who had cried and cried when she lost her stuffed caterpillar until I managed to find it; the girl who I'd helped with her homework until she finally got the hang of algebra, the young woman who, one Saturnalia, unbeknownst to anyone else, had brought me a large jug of wine and then proceeded to get hideously drunk with me. 

 

Hating Romans, I thought, was all but a patriotic duty. Hating this particular Roman, on the other hand...well, why should I? She was as sweet as could be for a child raised in the moral sewer of their nation - and, when all was said and done, it was Hallarticus, not her, who ordered the invasion of the Vaterland. 

 

"Oh" she said, seeming somewhat relieved. "But then, why are you leaving? There...there are people here who care about you. You do know that, don't you?"

 

"That's sweet of you to say" I said, and then, feeling that perhaps something more was required, "and I care about you too."

 

She looked down at the floor, and then looked back up at me. She sighed, deeply.

 

"This isn't how I wanted to say this" she said. "I thought it would be more...special, somehow. But...I don't think you understand." She looked me, straight in the eye. "I love you. Not like a daughter loves a father, either, or a sister loves a brother. But how a woman loves a man."

 

For a moment, I said nothing. My mouth opened and clothed like a fish out of water, gaping uselessly.

 

It was stupid. It was insane. She was yet to be twenty, I was thirty five. I was of the Volk, she a proud Roman. And, most of all, she was the daughter of my former owner. Had she said this but a few months ago, I would have been in paroxysms of fear, dreading what her father would do if he even heard her say such a thing. As it was, I did briefly wonder about quickly leaving, before he got his antique pistol and started after me.

 

"What?" I said.

 

"I...you're a sweet man." she said. "Skilled too. You've helped my father build up this business from nothing. And I've known you, known you for ages, long enough to know that you'd be a good father, a husband I'd love. And...well, I don't think my father would be unhappy about it, if it kept you here. Hades, I've heard him mention it, once or twice."

 

"You'd by marrying beneath yourself" I said, playing for time whilst I thought of something more intelligent to say. She just smiled, and shrugged.

 

"A little bit, maybe...but you've lived among us Romans for long enough. You know freed slaves can rise. It happens, that a daughter - not the firstborn, obviously - marries a former slave, if the former slave is worthy. And besides, I'd prefer to be with a man I respect than one of just good blood." Her mouth twisted upwards, in a sad smile. "Look at my sister. Hadria married a man of fine breeding but who beats her incessantly. I'd prefer to be with you."

 

I looked at her, realising that I'd never actually thought about marriage for years - indeed, had never actually been with a woman. True, there was Cloria, a sweet tempered woman, who appeared to originate from perhaps near the Indus, who served in a house close to ours. We'd become friends, and I had been tempted to ask for more than friendship, before recalling that she was obviously not of the Volk; and whilst the Romans could force me to do many things, they couldn't make me willingly mingle my blood with the likes of her, no matter how inviting she was. 

 

Telia's face was anxious, waiting for an answer. I bit my lip.

 

It was unexpected, and not what I had ever dreamed might happen. But, looking at her, seeing her properly, for the first time as she was, rather than my dominus' youngest daughter, it made sense. After all, what did await me in Freisreich, that I did not have here? Nothing but rebuilding a life from scratch in a cold, poverty stricken nation. Whilst here, I was, to all intents and purposes, a member of the family already. I was known and, I flattered myself, somewhat respected in the community - or as much as a former slave could be. My life was comfortable, I mostly enjoyed my work, and, although my heart was Volkish, I was undeniably somewhat Roman. And Telia...well, I had never truly noticed it before, but she was attractive - as well as, I knew, hard working, witty, and kind. And, whilst she was obviously not Volkish, nor was she Cloria. A woman with features like hers would not be unknown in Freisreich, and so I, at least, would not be betraying my race by lying with her.

 

For a moment, I saw it all. Saw our marriage. Saw our children, our house, our quiet, prosperous, well ordered life together. Perhaps I sat on the town council, or even saw my son grow up to become a decorated soldier, or scientist, or even a Senator. Saw me slot neatly into the People's Republic, a square peg in a square hole, saw myself join the Collegias, celebrate their festivals, speak Latin without a trace of an accent, wear a toga comfortably.

 

I was tempted, and I reached forward, to smile, and accept, and take Telia's hand, and ask her father for his permission which, now that I truly thought about it, I saw no reason why he would not give. 

 

But then I saw other, darker things. I saw my Volkishness drop away, to be replaced with Rome's values, Rome's ideals. Saw me casually accept the degeneracy, the slavery, all the facets of Rome that had once, and still did, appall me. I saw myself betray my Volk, my Vaterland, and become nothing more than a blonde haired Roman. 

 

I smiled, and then shook my head gently. I leaned forward, and chastely kissed Telia on the forehead.

 

"I'm sorry" I said, and truly, I was. "You're a good woman. But I'm not a Roman. I'm Volkish." I took a deep breath, knowing that, whatever happened, I would still, sometimes wonder what would have happened had I accepted. "And I'm going home."

**Author's Note:**

> The Holy Kingdom of Freisreich leads the so called 'Iron League' (more formally known as the League of Free States) and is regarded as Rome's main rival. Despite the last declared war between them ending around a century ago, tensions between the two powers remain extremely high. Minor airspace incursions, espionage scandals and skirmishes are not uncommon, and the two powers frequently fight proxy wars around the world. 
> 
> Freisreich is effectively a theocratic monarchy, with most power vested in the military. The state religion, best rendered from the Volkish into Latin as as 'Revealed Doctrine and Covenant of the Chosen of the Heavens' is extremely influential. Holding that the Volkish people are the favoured sons of God and that the apocalypse is near, it condemns slavery as a particularly vile abomination.


End file.
